


You are the best part of me

by TransverseLadybird



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After the Battle of the Dead, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, No Smut, Post Season/Series 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11983935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransverseLadybird/pseuds/TransverseLadybird
Summary: The survivors of the Battle of the Dead gather to celebrate their victory and mourn their losses.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story came about because I was thinking that Brienne has no idea that Jaime shares her feelings, and won't know until he makes it abundantly clear.

Jaime had had far too much to drink. She hated the way his eyes glazed over and he seemed to look straight through her when he drank. There was no sincerity in his drunkenness, only false pleasure as he tried to run from his wounds.

Brienne stood at attention, alert for anything, despite Sansa’s order that she join the celebration. The festivities were well-deserved and more than a few people followed Jaime’s path of removing themselves from the brutality of the world in drink. Not a single person here hadn’t lost someone they cared about in the Battle of the Dead. She had to fight back tears as she thought about how much Podrick would have loved this day.

“Not having fun, my Lady?” Asked Jaime, sidling closer. He’d stuck close all day, and she wished he wouldn’t. She wished he was sober. She wished she didn’t care about him as much as she did. Then she wouldn’t have to feel so much grief over his chosen painkiller.

“Not really,” she said stiffly, refusing to meet his eye.

“You should dance, my Brienne,” he said, staring up at her.

“I’m not _your_ Brienne,” she snapped, her heart squeezing as she said it. “And I don’t care for dancing.” It wasn’t true. She wished she could dance, but she knew what others saw when she danced, and she refused to suffer the humiliation.

“We won,” he murmured softly, his lips too close to her ear.

“We won,” she stated back, without emotion, still choosing to look at the dancing instead of him. Even the Dragon King twirled his cousin on the floor while the Dragon Queen changed partners every dance. The one highlight Brienne could see was how happy Sansa could finally be. Her sister Arya also danced, pairing with Tyrion of all people. Brienne could not imagine how she had convinced the Hand to dance. She couldn't imagine even his wife could do that.

“You don’t seem happy, my Lady.” Jaime only slurred his words slightly; he wasn’t as drunk as she thought. Or that’s what she tried to tell herself.

“We lost so many,” she murmured, her voice finally softening.

“I saw you almost die,” he admitted, in a rumble.

“What?” She spun to face him. He was looking up at her intensely. It was slightly frightening; his eyes had the gleam of a madman.

“When Podrick took that blade. It was going to kill you. I thought it _had_ killed you. I thought it was too late.”

“It _was_ too late,” she said, raising her chin to force her tears back again. She would _not_ cry in front of this version of Jaime fucking Lannister.

“I’m sorry, Brienne,” he said sincerely, sounding much more like her Jaime, not the drunken fool. She caught her own thoughts and shook them off. Not her Jaime. She didn’t answer him. She had nothing to say, but he still didn’t leave.

“What do you want, Ser Jaime?” She finally harrumphed.

“You,” he said, baldly, but with the drunken gleam that made her turn away in disgust. She couldn’t deny the way her heart kicked into gear like a prize stallion, and she couldn’t ignore his eyes, but they burnt her so she pulled her gaze away, back to the milling crowd.

“You’re drunk,” she said, only barely managing to keep her voice from cracking. He would not make a fool of her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his tone flippant. She felt her heart break inside her chest. She had trusted him, but he was the same as all the others.

“Don’t you dare,” she growled.

He stood taller and pressed his lips to hers. She pushed him back savagely. She could feel stares on them and her cheeks flushed brighter than they ever had; it would have been for shame if the anger in her veins weren’t a thousand times stronger.

“Don’t you mock me, _Kingslayer_ ,” she said, tossing his hated name on him like a curse, “I am _not_ one of your _whores_.”

She didn’t know what else to do, so she fled. One hand on her sword, almost hoping to get the chance to use it, she turned and marched into the keep.

She’d been given her own rooms in the partially ruined castle; a promise of further favours for her loyalty in the war and a rare honour in these times. Right now, she was simply glad of the privacy.

Almost as soon as she’d unbuckled her sword, she heard banging on her door. She was torn between dread and hope that it was him.

“Brienne, I’m sorry,” he called. He sounded anguished. He sounded genuine. He didn’t sound drunk. She clenched her fists, trying to fight back against her softening; she would not let him soften her.

She opened the door, rolling her shoulders back to maximise her height advantage.

“I don’t sleep with whores,” he said, and it could have sounded like he was trying to make himself sound better, but oddly, it had the timbre of a confession. “I have slept with only one woman in my entire life.”

Brienne wanted to say something cutting, but the harsh words choked her. He needed to talk and she cared for him too much to cut him now.

“She’s dead. Along with our children.” The pain implied in that last word almost broke Brienne.

“I’m sorry, Jaime,” she said stiffly.

He nodded. The silence between them stretched to infinity and back before he looked up at her, his eyes dry and blazing once more.

“If you had died, I would have followed.”

It was such a simple thing to confess, but it rocked Brienne to the core. He had lost so much, and survived.

“I thought I lost the best part of me when they cut off my hand. But, Brienne, _you_ are the best part of me. I can’t lose you.” No mockery lanced his words. No flippancy belied the mood. It was almost too much to bear.

“You won’t,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about Podrick! I love him, but I think he's destined to die. And he will go out sacrificing himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not meant to continue this, but I wrote a continuation anyway, so I thought I would share it. The tension between the two is my favourite thing, so I wanted to prolong the sweet torture.
> 
> If you think it might ruin the first bit to keep the torture going, don't read this bit!

Brienne didn’t move. Jaime could see she either had no idea what he was declaring, or she didn’t want to hurt him, but she wanted to be there for him.

“Jaime,” she said awkwardly, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I’m really very sorry about…” _About everything._

“That’s not what I want,” he said, intensely.

“I don’t know how to help,” confessed Brienne. “I want to be your friend.”

Jaime saw complete confusion in her bright blue eyes. He sighed. He felt like an old man standing before Brienne’s young, clear face.

“Brienne,” he said, “dance with me.”

“I cannot…”

“You fight like an angel, my Brienne,” he smiled, “you do not dance like that with a sword without being able to hold your own in a waltz.”

“You would not be ashamed to dance with the…”

“As long as you promise never to wear pink silk ever again, I will dance with you every turn,” he refused to allow her to finish any derogatory thought about herself.

Brienne blushed, her eyes grazing her feet rather than his face. He would take it. He resolved to make her smile before the night was out. He should not have spoken so honestly of his feelings. All he did was make her awkward of him.

His heart seemed to die a little inside him. He was not worthy of the Maid of Tarth. He had known it the first time he met her. He had hated her then, as he hated anyone who hid behind honour. But now he knew Brienne of Tarth did not hide behind honour. It wasn’t a shield for her, it was a genuine part of who she was.

“The last time I danced was with Renly,” she confessed. She had told him the story after the battle, when they’d all been too exhausted to even imagine the next day and had simply sat by a fire, sometimes talking, sometimes sleeping.

“Last time you danced was with the children in the courtyard,” he smirked. She taught every child who wanted to learn the sword for an hour at first dawn and an hour before sunset each day. Jaime was sure it was for Podrick. He had an image of her, then, with children of her own. She would be a terrifying matriarch, but she could love more fiercely than anyone he knew, even if she had trouble expressing it.

He extended his right arm. He no longer wore a golden hand; he found a hook far more practical, and he’d removed it many hours ago. He didn’t need to be _useful_ right now. Instead, his arm ended in a sewn-up sleeve.

Brienne placed her hand gently on the cloth covering his stump, and allowed him to lead her back to the party.

Nothing had changed, except that Tyrion now danced with his wife, and the Dragon King and Queen sat at the table. Jaime felt changed, though. He knew he could not have the woman at his side; one too pure and too good for one such as him. But he swore to be as good a friend to her as any had ever been. Though his heart broke, he could do that much.

The song they played was not one he recognised, but then singers had been making up new songs for weeks.

He was right. Brienne might appear uncomfortable in her own skin, but she understood music, and once she relaxed, the litheness she had acquired from years of sword fighting shone through. Though they had only fought that one time on the bridge, they were well matched. They moved together perfectly. It broke Jaime’s heart further to think it.

The song ended far too soon, and Brienne took an instinctual step back, bowing politely to the musicians. She smiled at him, and he felt a rush of success. It was the first time she had smiled since the battle. Then she dropped her eyes again and her expression was lost from him, but her cheeks looked flushed.

“Thank you, Jaime,” she said, half turning away from him before he captured her again.

“Did I not promise you every turn?”

She laughed lightly. “I’m sure I could not deprive the ladies of Ser Jaime’s pleasure.”

“Ser Jaime does not have the reputation he used to.”

Brienne looked at him sideways. “You must be so relieved.”

He smiled. “Unbelievably.”

“Now you’re just an ordinary man.”

“Not the Kingslayer anymore.”

Brienne skirted her eyes across the crowd. “You are still the man who turned his back on everything to fight the Dragon’s war. You underestimate how beloved you are now.”

“It was everyone’s war.”

“Yes, but you turned your back on everything you had to risk your life for the good of the realm.”

“So for once, breaking an Oath has improved my reputation,” he said drily.

“It should have from the beginning,” murmured Brienne. Jaime couldn’t tell if she wanted him to have heard him, so he pretended he didn’t, though her words set his heart on fire.

He couldn’t handle it. He was an oathbreaker, after all, what was one more oath broken? He had stuck to this one for minutes only.

“Brienne,” he said, pulling her closer and speaking quietly. She found the new rhythm quickly, and he allowed himself a few moments to enjoy her closeness.

“Yes, Jaime?” She prompted, and he realised he’d taken far too long.

“I wasn’t drunk before. I am not a liar anymore. When I said I wanted you, I meant it; in every way possible.”

Her eyebrows raised so far it was almost comical and her mouth parted softly in wonder. “But…” she mumbled. She was not eloquent. He waited for her to find her tongue, watching her frozen features with his heart in his incredibly dry mouth.

“But you’re Ser Jaime,” she said with something terrifyingly like doubt. The tone was a kick in the guts. “You could have any woman you wished for. Cersei….” She covered her mouth with her hand. She clearly hadn’t meant to say her name. That name had never been spoken between them.

“You are far better than her in every way, Lady Brienne.”

“But she was beautiful. And I’m Brienne the Beauty…” She looked down in shame.

“You are Brienne of Tarth,” he cut across her, “sworn sword of Lady Sansa. Hero of the Battle of the Dead. I don’t deserve to even have a friend like you. I am a greying old man with one hand and nothing left, Brienne. I have nothing to offer you but… myself.”

Brienne was a blazing red, but she didn’t avoid his eyes anymore; she stared into them like she was trying to spot a jest. Jaime feared that was exactly what she did. But if there was one person who could trust his sincerity, it was her, and she seemed to be realising it.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“That would not be a first, my Lady,” he smirked.

“I never thought you would…” She smiled at him, her whole face softening.

He smiled and twirled her. Her smile split her face and her eyes seemed to deepen until they were truly the colour of sapphires. He would never tire of looking into those eyes. God, he’d gotten soft.

Suddenly she was laughing. He was taken aback but he couldn’t help his grin. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Tyrion, who had broken off dancing to drink, smirking at him over his wine. He winked back.

“Will you marry me, Brienne of the Sapphire Isle?”

“I’ll have to ask my Lady,” she said seriously. Her eyes seemed to twinkle with joy, though her face had become as straight as ever it was.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” he said, smiling, since Sansa would refuse Brienne nothing within her power.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime marry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who requested a wedding. I had a lot of fun writing this. The first parts are the lead up because that's where my brain went. I may write a chapter focused on the wedding feast if people are interested. Enjoy!

Jaime threw away the bridal cloak in disgust.

“I will not cloak her as a lion. She deserves better.” Tyrion didn’t comment on his brother’s sudden tantrum. He simply cocked one eyebrow. “Besides, what does it mean to be a lion anymore?”

“None of our traditions seem to mean much anymore,” remarked Tyrion quietly. “I think you may be able to swear to each other in any manner you wish.”

“In the fencing courts?” Asked Jaime drily. When Tyrion didn’t respond to his jape, he sighed. “She deserves better than a lion.” Tyrion didn’t comment, but it sounded like Jaime wasn’t saying what he really meant. _She deserves better than me._

“You gave up your family when you joined the Kingsguard.”

“I gave up my family when I turned my back on the last member still loyal to our father.”

“ _We_ are our family now, Jaime.”

“Are we even lions?”

“I don’t think so. _Hear me Roar_ ,” mocked Tyrion.

“That can die with the old fool,” Jaime had never openly mocked their father, but he had also been disowned by the man. “So what are we now?”

“Servants,” smiled Tyrion.

Jaime laughed without humour. “Can you imagine father’s face?”

“Imagine his _horror_ at his golden son marrying the warrior daughter of a lesser house.”

“Can’t be worse than when he heard about Cersei.” Jaime’s face had turned dark and Tyrion didn’t press him.

***

Brienne couldn’t breathe properly as girls flitted around her like butterflies; exceptionally beautiful butterflies. Although she trusted Jaime more than anyone in her life, she couldn’t shake the ball of dread in her gut. She’d been told all her life that she’d never find a worthy husband. Now she was to marry one of the most famed knights in the seven kingdoms, the man who had saved her from a bear. It was just like one of the songs. Except she was no princess.

Septa Roelle had told her the only truth was in the mirror, so that’s where she looked. She loved the gown they were making; it matched the colour of her eyes, with a simple cut and flowing skirt. It was to have the sunbursts and crescent moons embroidered on the bodice. Even so, she was plain. The beautiful dress could not disguise that, nor could any words of Jaime’s.

“My Lord!” Cried the girls. Brienne turned to see Tyrion enter the room. Thought the girls gasped, Brienne could not see the impropriety. She was fully clothed.

“Could you lovely ladies give me a moment with my charming sister-to-be?” He smiled disarmingly. _He’s always had a honeyed tongue_ , she thought.

“Good morning,” she said, bowing slightly.

“I hope you will dispense with the courtesies when you are my sister.”

“I was under the impression you’ve never liked your sisters,” she said.

Tyrion threw his head back in mirth, and Brienne blushed. She had not meant to say it; Cersei was still a weak spot in Brienne’s armour.

“You are right, Brienne. Shall we start a new tradition between Lannister siblings? I confess we have not done well in the past.”

Brienne’s smile was polite. Tyrion vowed to work on reducing any politeness between them. This was one sister he intended to have a good relationship with.

“Did you want something, My Lord?” She asked. Tyrion raised an eyebrow, as if to reprimand the formality. “Tyrion,” she amended, smiling stiffly.

“I wished to have a cup of wine with my sister,” he said flippantly, sitting himself on a low armchair and laying back, apparently totally at ease.

“My – Tyrion,” she said. She was uncomfortable with his flippancy. She preferred directness; his flippancy was too much like dishonesty and left a sour feeling in her belly.

“I came to make sure you were alright,” he said seriously, fixing her with a terrifying gaze.

She swallowed back her fear. “I’m fine,” she said, raising her chin to make herself believe it.

“You are terrified of marrying my brother and what it means.” When Brienne blushed, Tyrion shook his head. “That is not what I refer to. He is still the enemy in so many respects; I’m sure the Dragon Queen would love to wipe out the last reminder of the rebellion that unseated her father and killed her beloved brother.”

_Then she’d have to kill Jon_ , thought Brienne, but did not voice the thought. Tyrion seemed to catch it anyway.

“She had to issue those pardons, else she would have trod that terrifying slope to her father, but that doesn’t mean she enjoys having her father’s killer seated at her table.”

“You are blunt, My Lord,” said Brienne. She approved of this side of him.

“I can be. You are beloved by your Lady, by the King and Queen. By all of us. My brother…”

“Is only loved by the two of us,” agreed Brienne, her heart squeezing painfully with the knowledge.

“That makes it difficult to find a place for you both.”

Brienne nodded. He wasn’t here to talk to her as himself, but rather as someone who could decide her future.

“We want to give you both a holding.”

A holding? “My Lord, I am the only heir of Tarth.”

“I meant a significant holding,” said Tyrion dismissively. It stung, and that must have shown in the tightening of her eyes, because Tyrion seemed apologetic.

Jaime did not want the responsibility. Brienne knew that as well as her brother did. “Neither Jaime nor I would thank you for it, Tyrion,” she said, meeting his eyes squarely.

He nodded thoughtfully, and seemed to relax back. “We do not have to discuss it now.” His eyes softened. “I should take my leave,” he said. “Your beautiful dress will not sew itself.”

“Thank you for talking to me first, Tyrion.”

He turned back and his eyes looked pained. It was clear that whatever he wanted to say was hard for him. “Thank you for taking care of Podrick for me.” To Brienne’s shock, there seemed to be tears in Tyrion’s eyes. Her own prickled uncomfortably and she had to swallow a boulder in her throat before she could reply.

“I didn’t do well enough,” she confessed gravelly.

“He would have fought anyway, my Dear,” said Tyrion, stepping forward hesitantly and grasping Brienne’s hands. “With your training, he fought well. He saved your life, which I believe is all he would have asked for.”

“We are both in debt to our former squire.” Tyrion looked surprised so Brienne nodded. “He told me the story of the Blackwater.”

“Yes,” said Tyrion. “Thank you for saving his life.”

If the girls noticed her red-rimmed eyes when they re-entered, they didn’t mention it.

***

Lady Sansa escorted her to the altar. There were some mutterings and a few raised eyebrows, but no one else had the right in Brienne’s mind.

Jaime wasn’t dressed in Lannister colours. He wore plain silver and white. It was not the Kingsguard uniform; he was simply himself.

Her heart thumped painfully as she stood opposite him.

She knew the traditional words of the marriage, but that’s not what happened.

Instead, Jaime turned to his brother, who handed him his sword.

“Lady Brienne of Tarth.” He unsheathed the Valyrian steel and knelt, laying the sword at her feet. “I vow that I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if needed. I am yours from this day, until my last day. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

She opened her mouth, but couldn’t find words.

Tyrion smiled at her over Jaime’s head and she realised what she wished. She turned to find Sansa holding Oathkeeper. They’d anticipated her reaction. She took the sword with a quiet thank you and knelt beside Jaime. Their eyes met and she repeated the words back to him. The words that made her his as he was hers.

With the twin blades lying between them, Jaime took her hand and got to his feet, pulling her up with him.

Tyrion passed him a cloak, but that was not the red and gold of the Lannister family, either. It was a simple white cloak. She turned and he draped it over her shoulders. She turned back and he fastened it across her throat.

“For a new start,” he said, his eyes full. She blinked back her tears and smiled with her whole face.

He leant forward, touching her cheek gently and pressing his lips chastely to her own. His warm, green eyes sparkled. Her whole body seemed to reflect the sparkle; she could feel it to her toes.

A sound like rain reached her ears, and she turned to see her friends, cheering.


End file.
